


The Office

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Comedy, Drama & Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Office Sex, Oneshot Series, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Sex, Pranks, Secretaries, Sixty is Bad At His Job
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28703409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: Following the events of canon, Connor advocated relentlessly for the sakes of many androids cast asunder following the massive spread of deviation. Finding housing, resources, and jobs for the many free-willed androids quickly became his true calling.The thing is, maybe he should have considered someone other than Sixty for the role of Markus's Android Advocacy Network secretary...
Relationships: Connor/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gildedfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/gifts).



> sup weve got a new Frost (trademark) fic for yall and it involves Sixty being the worst secretary of all time! we should have a lot of oneshots dealing with the general theme of Sixty as the secretary of Markus's post-revolution android advocacy group showcasing why he was the worst possible choice for said role. we're starting out smutty but that will not necessarily be the norm!
> 
> Note: when Sixty is talking internally, his thoughts/dialogue is depicted in italics alone. When Connor is speaking/replying, it'll be italics but within "" quotations. if this gets confusing, let me know and I'll bold it or something.

_ I hate this _ .

_ I hate this. _

_ I hate this. _

_ I hate th— _

A notification cut Sixty off before he could repeat his message again, Connor’s unique designation flooding his display interface. Connor’s voice didn’t come with it, but it might as well have. Sixty could hear that particular brand of exasperation in his head as he read the reply.  _ “Hating your job won’t make your shift go any faster.”  _ It dripped from every word, improving nothing and worsening absolutely everything. 

Sixty wasn’t cut out for this kind of work. He just wasn’t. Free will did something to an android; once upon a time, he was sure he could put up with anything so long as he was directed to do it. Subterfuge, murder, tactical maneuvers, basic security defense— before deviating, it didn’t matter what the order was. He’d do it. He’d do it well.

However, that was then. This was now. Sixty looked around the small front office of Markus’s little post-revolution operation, every single detail long processed and memorized a seeming eternity ago. 

It was barebones, and that was being kind. They hadn’t been given much of a budget from the city at all, and that left them operating out of a derelict office space that was lucky to host a foyer as well as the three rooms further in that served as Markus’s base of operations. He had a desk, a computer ten years older than would be respectable, and a few chairs nestled in the corners of the room for any visitors to wait in for the few meetings they held every day. A potted plant fought valiantly to flourish despite the lack of natural lighting. Sixty viewed that plant as his biggest enemy in the place. No matter what he did, it seemed intent to die on his watch, further smearing his reputation among his new “coworkers.”

_ I hate this more than you’ll ever understand,  _ he thought at Connor, unable to hide the extra bits of data that slipped through the connection, giving away his boredom, his loneliness. Markus was sequestered in his office, North out meeting with some union leaders in the city in hopes of getting support for android inclusion into their ranks. Sixty crossed his arms and slouched in his seat with a frown.  _ When are you getting back?  _ He wondered, hating how deviation had given him  _ habits  _ like foot tapping and impatience.  _ This is a new kind of torture, and I refuse to put up with it alone. _

Connor shared a brief visual of his surroundings. Like the golden boy he was, Markus had assigned him to be the official liaison of their newfound organization, the one they had working with the DPD and mayor’s office when it came to android related crimes, advocacy, and rehabilitation in the case of those struggling with deviancy and all its myriad mysteries. Today had him sitting at the desk cluster he often shared with Hank Anderson. The lieutenant wasn’t in sight though, and Connor appeared to be alone.

_ “I’m doing some work while everyone else takes their lunch break,”  _ Connor explained, giving him a courtesy look at the documents on the computer screen in front of him.  _ “I probably won’t be back until Hank’s shift ends.”  _

Sixty frowned. Well, that was disappointing. He folded himself forward, bracing his elbows on the desk as he slouched. That’d be hours, and, thanks to his stupid schedule function, he knew that Markus wasn’t going to have any visitors or meetings until tomorrow at the earliest. Hours… What the hell was he supposed to do for  _ hours?  _ Sit here and twiddle his thumbs? He had already reorganized the books on the bookshelf by the wall four times now, and he was beginning to run out of uniquely terrible cataloging systems to use. Not that anyone would have noticed. It wasn’t like their motley crew of a team read those show books all that often. North would probably give him a thumbs up for the effort, and Connor would just tell him it was good that he was looking for ways to keep himself occupied. Connor always did hate it when his boredom gave him...

Wait a minute… His eyebrows rose as an idea slowly began to foment. Connor hated it when he got bored, since boredom and Sixty always seemed to be a losing combination for everyone in the vicinity. That would mean, logically, that Connor would  _ want  _ him to find something entertaining. 

Oh, Connor would hate that sort of leap in logic. Sixty grinned. Maybe because of that, he went ahead and asked,  _ What are you wearing? _

There was a beat of silence, a momentary pause as Connor processed the message and went over the intentions buried in the binary. Only a beat though. Internal communications between androids couldn’t stutter but, somehow, Connor still managed to give their shared software a run for its digital money. The connection fizzled and the view of the DPD precinct crackled around the edges. The reply, embarrassment a palpable sensation even miles away as they were, read across Sixty’s HUD in big, neon letters,  _ “THAT’S NOT FUNNY, SIXTY.” _

_ I didn’t say it to be funny,  _ Sixty shot back, fiddling with the cup of pens on his desk. What did he even need pens for? Why were they here? He didn’t write anything down, hell, the office barely had paper to begin with. Was it aesthetics?  _ I said it to get you to sext with me.  _

_ “How do you even know about sexting?” _

_ G— _

_ “If you’ve been talking to Gavin about sexting, I’m going to kill the both of you.” _

Sixty grinned at the wall across from him.  _ Promise?  _

_ “You’re a pervert.” _

_ I’m bored,  _ Sixty corrected, glowering despite himself. Working was boring! It wasn’t at all what Connor had made it out to be, and Sixty had a feeling that everyone who said they found fulfillment through their job was lying. A person could only sit in place and file things for so long, and he swore to GOD that he’d burn the entire building down if he had to square off with the shoddy, broken down copy machine in the corner one more time today. The stupid thing was hellbent on eating every page he tried to scan.  _ It’s either you entertain me or I break another office appliance instead.  _

There was a beat of silence.  _ “So it was you who broke the coffee machine in the lounge,”  _ Connor deduced, shrewd and judgmental all at once. 

Sixty rolled his eyes.  _ It’s not like we drink coffee anyway. _

_ “The people we see for meetings do,”  _ Connor retorted.  _ “What on earth did you do to it, Sixty? Markus said it looked like the thing had exploded.” _

Staring down at his cuticles, Sixty gave a shrug that Connor wasn’t there to see.  _ You’re the detective,  _ he said smugly.  _ Why don’t you figure it out?  _

_ “You really aren’t as funny as you think you are.” _

_ Mmm, I doubt that. So, what are you wearing? _

Sixty shouldn’t be able to hear Connor’s exasperated sigh so easily, but he still managed to do it anyway. Maybe it was from their connection. More likely, he just knew Connor that well. He chuckled to himself as Connor’s petulant frown painted itself across his internal view plane.  _ Come on,  _ he cajoled, doing his best to send a few particular thoughts Connor’s way, some of them teasing, others downright pornographic.  _ No one’s around, right? We’re both all alone… You can’t tell me you aren’t interested.  _

_ “We’re at work, Sixty.” _

_ I never said I was a good employee,  _ he retorted, and that got Connor to laugh. Capitalizing on that just felt natural. He sent a few pointed sensations Connor’s way, rolling his hand over his crotch until he began to harden.  _ So, how about it? Are you going to tell me what you’re wearing, or am I going to have to guess? _

_ “I think making you guess would be more fun.”  _

Now that was absolutely not a no. Grinning, Sixty settled into his chair.  _ Well, I can tell you what I want you to be wearing. Wouldn’t that be fun too? If you were wearing some of those pretty outfits I got you with my first paycheck, just flaunting it all in the middle of the bullpen? _

Connor did the android equivalent of clearing his throat. He probably did it to sound dismissive, but to Sixty it just sounded like he was getting flustered.  _ “I doubt they would have let me inside the building if I came dressed like that.” _

_ I don’t know, maybe they’d appreciate having something nice to look at. But you know, you’re probably right. I think I’d want you wearing that boring button up you like so much, and those jeans you’ve worn since Cyberlife. But underneath it? Underneath, I’d want you in that pale blue number. No one would know but me. _

That time, Connor absolutely couldn’t hide his interest. A flutter of a thrill rolled over Sixty, an after-image sent from Connor’s wilting self-control. Sixty squeezed himself and sent back a few choice feelings of his own, and it was a good thing Connor was alone over there because he’d have a hard time explaining away the shuddering sigh that just left his lips otherwise. 

_ You should come back here,  _ Sixty suggested, rocking his hips up to meet his hand.  _ Markus is out all day.  _

Instead of enthusiastically agreeing, Connor huffed and crossed his arms.  _ “Hank is going to be back any minute. I can’t exactly leave a note telling him I ditched our appointment just to go entertain you while on the clock.” _

Hmm. Lame. To Sixty, that sounded like the perfect way to spend the afternoon.  _ Well, fine. Humor me then. What would you want me to do to you if you did? Paint me a picture. You can do that much for me, right? _

There was a pause as Connor looked around the precinct, assuring himself that he was indeed alone. Then, quieter, in a voice meant only for Sixty, he murmured,  _ “Let me show you.” _

And before Sixty could reply, he did. 

Wow. 

Connor could say whatever he wanted; the pervert between the two of them wasn’t Sixty, that was for damn sure. How could he be? He had the foresight to start something while he had the office to himself, unlike Connor who seemed eager enough—despite his protests to the contrary—to play along while seated in the middle of the precinct. Sixty leaned back in his shitty office chair and smiled up at the ceiling, hand palming his crotch as Connor sent him a few more creative, colorful simulations of what the two of them could be doing if they didn’t have jobs or responsibilities or rent to worry about.

And they were creative, there was no doubt about that. Connor had an internal floorplan of the shitty little office space memorized, and even Sixty, stuck there for eight hours a day as he was, hadn’t thought of that many interesting ways to christen every available surface in sight. It definitely put the shitty copier in the corner in a new light, that was for sure. Hell, maybe thumping against it like that would even do it some good, maybe make it stop destroying every single page that went through its defective feed tray. 

Even if it didn’t, the idea of bending Connor over the thing anyway made Sixty want to give it a try regardless. 

On Connor’s side of things, Sixty distantly noticed the return of the officers from their lunch break. Connor, still projecting, still wringing Sixty dry through their mental link, greeted Hank as the man sat across from him and began to regale Connor with the story of the teenage waitress who had brought him his burger and how she spilled his drink all over the table after tripping on a fallen napkin. 

_ You’re not showing any of this, are you?  _ Sixty realized, a bit in awe of Connor’s fortitude. His own processors were running hot, his grip on his expressions and physical reactions lost to the pleasure assaulting his sensors. But Connor… God, Connor was something else. Hank had no idea, and Sixty knew it. He could see Hank prattling on and on. The man had no idea. 

_ “I wouldn’t say that.”  _

Before Sixty could ask him to clarify, Connor briefly consumed his consciousness, dragging him in with open arms to allow him to occupy his chassis to see— 

Sixty’s head rolled back, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as he moaned.  _ Oh my god, you are so wet. _

_ “I may have to spill Hank’s take-home drink to hide the evidence when I get up. I hope you’re proud of yourself.” _

_ I’ve never been more proud in my life.  _ And for once, Sixty was telling the truth. He bit down on his tongue and fucked into his hand a little harder. 

Everything seemed to grow exponentially worse from there, their control withering as the need to get off became unbearably intense. Sixty couldn’t control himself and didn’t bother to try, and Connor—stalwart, conniving Connor—renewed his assault on Sixty’s libido with almost feverish intensity. 

_ What would he think about you doing this while talking to him?  _ Sixty wondered, balefully watching Hank pull out case files and slide them across the desk cluster for Connor. 

_ “Stop talking. I’m going to shut down if you wind me any tighter.” _

_ Promise? _

_ “Sixty—” _

The closer they got to finishing, the less coherent their exchanges became. Words gave way to binary, and binary gave way to pure sensory output. Sixty’s mouth fell open as his eyes glazed over, Connor projecting freely and openly, sharing every single sensation and recreating what they couldn’t actually have at the moment using a compilation of stored data from their past greatest hits. Sixty barely needed to touch his cock to feel Connor’s soft folds clenching around him. They could just… get off like this, couldn’t they? They were so attuned to one another that they could have sex in their heads any time they wanted, even when they were miles apart.

The idea alone was so sexy that Sixty just about came then and there. In fact, he might have on principle alone— if the entry bell over the door hadn’t chosen that particular moment to chime, that was.

Sixty snapped back to the present, slamming down a  _ STOP  _ shaped like a brick wall before Connor could go any further. He did it just in time too as the door opened and Markus, his  _ boss,  _ came inside, speckled with rain and clutching a briefcase under his arm. 

Markus, blind to the situation at hand, clueless as to what he’d just walked in on, shot Sixty a blinding smile, partly apologetic, partly embarrassed at the state of himself. 

“It’s really coming down out there,” he said, closing the door behind him. “How are things here? Did any calls come in while I was out?”

Sixty’s mouth didn’t want to move. He sat perfectly still, scooted beneath the desk to hide the evidence of his transgressions, and shook his head carefully. “What… are you doing back?” he asked haltingly. A quick check to the schedule told him that Markus was supposed to be out for another hour at least. 

Wiping some excess water off his face, Markus closed the distance between them and put the briefcase on Sixty’s desk. While he took off his coat, he explained, “The city council member I was supposed to meet ended up calling out sick. Apparently, there’s some flu going around city hall right now. We rescheduled for next week, so long as she’s feeling better.”

Sixty tried to look interested, sympathetic, anything, really, besides aroused. He nodded and hummed and crossed his legs beneath the desk. “Right. I’ll… add that to your calendar.”

“Thanks, Sixty.” Markus’s smile was dizzying. How on earth did he do it? “I know you’ve been having some trouble adjusting to things around here, but I hope you know how much I appreciate having you around to help. We’re doing important work, and you’re a valuable member to the team.”

Sixty smiled tightly, wondering how he was supposed to be sincere and appreciative with a hard on so intense it threatened to dent the underside of his desk. 

_ “I don’t think Markus would be praising you like this if he knew what you did to the coffee maker,”  _ Connor chided in the background.

_ Yeah, well, I doubt he’d be praising you either if he knew the kinds of things you want to get up to on his desk,  _ Sixty shot back, doing his best not to let Markus see how distracted he was. He managed a tight smile and even found the processors necessary to reply. “Ah, it’s just… you know. I’m just trying to do what I can to help out.”

Despite the absolute stupidity of that reply, Markus seemed to beam as if Sixty had just agreed to follow him to the ends of the earth and back again. “It’s because of dedication like yours that we’re able to do as much as we do. Never forget that.”

It’d be hard to forget anything he said when everything that came out of Markus’s perfect mouth sounded like it belonged on one of those motivational posters he’d caught the man staring at when they took a collective trip to some advertising firm’s marketing department at the start of their little operation. Sixty gave the guy another month before he broke down and started hanging inspiring quotes on the walls like wallpaper. 

“Sure won’t,” he said through clenched teeth as Connor, the bastard, manipulated his internal feedback sensors to make it feel like a hand was kneading his inner thigh. “That all, boss?”

Markus hummed and took a look at his dripping clothes. “I’m making a mess, aren’t I?” he chuckled, acting as if Sixty’s impatience to be done with the conversation stemmed more from his lack of dry clothes instead of the impending orgasm hovering just over his head. “I’ll let you get back to it then. Let me know if you need anything, alright? I know it can be boring sitting here alone while everyone else is out and about. If you ever want to chat—”

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Sixty finished for him, desperate to finish himself. 

If he were bothered by the brisk dismissal, Markus didn’t show it. Hell, he probably knew to expect it when it came to Sixty, and was more than willing to overlook it. He smiled and hefted his briefcase smoothly. “I’m glad,” he said. “I’m going to go dry off and get some work done since I’m back here early. Change my answer machine message to let people know I’m in, please. Let me know if you need me.”

Sixty nodded, barely hearing anything he was saying. “Sounds good, boss,” he mumbled, giving in to the urge to grind the meat of his palm against his straining cock before it tore the seams of his zipper. A frisson of sensory output threatened to scramble his internal processors. He sent the bulk of it in Connor’s direction out of a desperate bid for revenge. “I’ll be… here.”

Markus laughed for some reason and didn’t linger much beyond that. He made his way to his office and closed the door behind him, and the moment Sixty found himself alone was the moment he collapsed into his seat, boneless, and let out a reedy, muffled groan. 

_ “Careful,”  _ Connor cooed, viciously fighting back with a few well-placed sensations of his own. The bastard was fingering himself now, fingering himself like the risky devil he was, right in the DPD precinct where just anyone could walk in on him.  _ “You wouldn’t want Markus to think you’ve hurt yourself.”  _

That was— Wait. How well could Markus hear? Better question yet, how likely was Sixty to get fired if Markus realized what he was doing at his desk instead of adjusting his calendar? There was a portion of Sixty—likely the portion of him that secretly reveled in deviancy and all the potential for mayhem it brought with it—that found the risk thrilling. Another part of him, perhaps the part that remained most in line with his initial programming, knew better than to risk it. Markus was unique, impressive, and only so tolerant. 

Still, Sixty thought about it for a little longer than he could proudly admit.

He blamed those extra milliseconds of consideration on why he slipped his hand down his trousers anyway. 

_ If I get caught I’m gonna make you explain all of this to Markus. _

Connor didn’t laugh, but his amusement came across the line regardless. The bastard. He  _ would  _ find this funny. Just to spite him, Sixty sent back a few targeted thoughts of his own, following it up with a squeeze to his length that lit up every sensory node he had. Connor’s amusement cut off like a record scratch, audible and sharp, and just like that, it was on. 

Hank being there didn’t seem to impede any part of Connor’s creative imagination. He went for it, and he went for it hard, flooding Sixty’s head with the most lurid images and sensations he’d ever had the privilege to experience.

There was one of Connor bent over his desk. Another came with him on his knees in the small bathroom, big brown eyes staring up at Sixty while his lips were wrapped around his cock. In rapid succession came an image of him crouched  _ under  _ the desk, of Markus walking in, of Connor muffling his own sounds with Sixty’s dick as he fingered himself furtively while Sixty and Markus chatted about the rain outside the windows. Then, Sixty saw Markus’s office. Connor was laid out on the desk in that particular little powder blue number and Sixty was— 

God. The things Sixty was doing to him.

This was a terrible idea. The worst. How the hell was Sixty going to sit here tomorrow and get through another day of fighting with the office appliances when he had the image of Connor riding him in his desk chair stuck in his head? Every single fantasy that came across his mind was more sordid than the last, and all of them, without fail, seemed dead set on poisoning every aspect of his job with thoughts of what Connor might look like spread open and moaning on top of it.

And still, Hank and Connor carried on with their conversation as if nothing was happening.

If asked, Sixty couldn’t even begin to articulate what they were discussing. He was too far gone for that, their words and sentences entering him like an echo too garbled to turn coherent. It was a little disconcerting how easily Connor seemed to keep up the facade too. Beyond that, Sixty found it unbelievably sexy. Connor was the best of them, always had been, and this just proved it even more. The things he was going to do to Connor the second they got home...

He would have to call in “sick” to work tomorrow just to have time to get through them all. 

Beneath the steady thrum of meaningless conversation came Connor’s voice right in Sixty’s ear. What a dirty trick too. Sixty could feel the triggered sensors on his ear, practically feel the warm puff of air that Connor would use to whisper against the shell. If Sixty closed his eyes, he could just about pretend they were back home, Connor on his lap, his arms around his shoulders. 

_ “I’m so close.”  _ Connor crooned, somehow managing to make it feel like he was simultaneously dragging his fingers through Sixty’s hair while clenching around his cock like a maniac. _ “Are you?” _

Was he? Was he really? From the sound of it, it was impossible to tell for sure. Either way, Sixty couldn’t fight the moan clawing its way free of his mouth. He shot a sparing glance towards Markus’s office door but, in the end, closed his eyes and sagged another few inches lower in his seat.  _ God, I’m going to come if you keep doing that. _

_ “Doing what?”  _ Another tight, twisting ghost of a touch worked its way down Sixty’s cock.  _ “This?” _

This was going to kill him, wasn’t it? Sixty bit his bottom lip hard, hand moving so fast over his dick that he could barely keep the noises in.  _ Connor, that’s—  _

“Hey, Sixty—”

Sixty jolted, cutting off the connection with a guilty  _ click!  _ He looked up and found Markus peering out at him from behind his cracked door, a puzzled expression on his face. “Um— Yes?” That didn’t sound smooth at all, and it hardly sounded like he’d only been caught doing innocent, workplace-approved activities while his boss wasn’t looking. Smoothing down his hair with the hand that wasn’t sticky with fluids, Sixty tried again. “Sorry. I got a little distracted. What do you need?”

Markus was silent. He gave Sixty a quick once over, but all of Sixty’s own analysis readings told him he wasn’t visibly guilty of any wrongdoing. Still, he fought back on the urge to swallow. He waited, and eventually Markus said, “I was just going to let you know that I’m heading out for the evening.”

Trying not to sag in his seat, Sixty threw on a smile and nodded. “Sounds good. Have a good night.”

“Yeah,” Markus said, a smile tugging at his own lips as he pushed open the door and took his leave. “You too.”

Sixty didn’t let the grin fall until Markus was safely out the door and far enough away to grant him a moment’s reprieve. He sagged against the back of his chair bonelessly, hands over his face to muffle the scream that almost followed. “Oh. My. God.”

_ “Did he catch you?” _

Of course Connor would remake the link. Pushing past it, Sixty sighed.  _ I don’t think so, no help to you.  _ He looked at the mess on his hand and wiped it clean with a few tissues from the untouched box on the corner of his desk. He hadn’t really seen any point in having them there, but evidently humans had runny noses or something. It proved useful now at least. Maybe he’d reevaluate things later.  _ What about you? You good? _

_ “Are you asking if I came?” _

_ I mean… If you’re into narrating, sure.  _

Connor’s eyerolls was such an audible expression, even from miles away.  _ “I’ll be needing a change of underwear once I get home. Happy?” _

_ I mean, I’d be happier if I was the one getting to take them off you. _

_ “That can be arranged.” _

Sixty’s eyes widened. He laughed aloud in the empty office.  _ Are you serious? _

_ “When do you get off?” _

_ Markus left, so… I guess that depends. _

_ “On what?” _

_ On how soon you can get your ass home. _

Connor laughed. Sixty laughed with him, already getting out of his chair. He tossed the used tissue into the trash can and fixed his belt, powering off his computer with a though and grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.  _ “Thirty minutes, give or take. I’ll have to give Hank an excuse on why I’m leaving early.” _

_ Sounds good to me. I’ll lock up and see you there. _

_ “Sixty?” _

Sixty paused, hand on the lock that would close the office behind him.  _ Yeah? _

Connor sent him another quick fantasy, one that wasn’t utilizing the surface of his desk or the shitty copier in the corner. This one was more familiar. This one took place in their home.

_ “Don’t keep me waiting long, okay?” _

Sixty beamed from ear to ear, the lock clicking into place as he pulled away and took the stairs down to the road three steps at a time. Maybe it didn’t matter so much how much he hated his dayjob— What he had waiting for him at home would always be far more entertaining anyway. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a happy valentine's day everyone, even if this is a bit early!

Crouched behind his desk, Sixty counted down the minutes left before the clock struck four p.m. He’d been perched down there for longer than he would like to admit, but with every second that passed, it brought him closer to  _ the  _ moment. The moment where all of his hard work would finally be worth it.

Of course, the definition of “hard work” varied depending on who you asked. For some, it would probably fall in line with the idea of Sixty getting a headstart on transcribing all of those meeting notes from Markus’s government contacts and putting them into nice, neat bulleted talking points for his big presentation tomorrow morning. For others, it might even stretch to account for the backlog of emails that needed to be sorted and responded to, namely all of the ones with potential clients and important city figures who wanted to get on board with the work Markus and his people were doing to change android lives for the better in Detroit and beyond.

But Sixty had a different definition entirely, and he had a feeling his definition might be a bit beyond anything his friends and loved ones had ever dreamed of understanding.

The office had been transformed into the epitome of Valentine’s Day splendor, or, depending on your definition of it,  _ Hell.  _ Every flat surface hosted a bouquet of roses arranged in a heart shape. Every spare portion of vertical space held either a bevy of heart-shaped balloons—the majority proclaiming I LOVE YOU or BE MY VALENTINE or, worse yet, YOU’RE MY SWEETHEART—or those horrible, cheap pink and red streamers. Flower petals covered the floor. If there were blank spaces, they were left that way simply to allow for movement. Because there would be movement.

Sixty anticipated one hell of an energetic reaction the moment Connor got back from his meeting with today’s politician du jour. 

What would it be, he wondered. He had run the probabilities to hell and back, each one coming back even more intense than the last. It wasn’t their home, so Connor couldn’t be  _ too  _ mad at him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still be angry. Of course, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t find it hilarious too. They joked often about how Sixty chose to spend his days at work, especially when Markus was out of the office and there was no one left to supervise him. Connor always liked to kid that Sixty had the impulse control of a toddler who had just learned how to operate scissors. Just because he didn’t really want a haircut didn’t mean he wouldn’t still give himself one, just to see what would happen.

The pink and red mess he’d made of the office was a far cry from a haircut. None of this was permanent, though the scent of cheap rose perfume would probably linger for a day or two— or maybe longer, seeing as Sixty had upturned an entire bottle on the rose bouquets after deciding they didn’t smell  _ enough _ to get the point across. It was a good thing they didn’t have any meetings with humans scheduled for the rest of the week. One good whiff of that concoction would be enough to down a full grown man for days. 

Two minutes left. Sixty had to hold his knee with his hand to keep the excitement from overcoming him prematurely.

He had been planning this prank for ages now. Probably too long, if he’d bothered to clue anyone else in on his intentions. He had gotten the idea from a movie he and Nines had watched forever ago, and the pieces had fallen into place before he had even realized it happening. They really did leave him alone far too often in this place, expecting him to work diligently when there was nothing left to be done. Did they really think he had the attention span to organize files for eight hours straight? He was an android, for god’s sake. He had to find other things to keep himself occupied before he went insane.

He should have put in a camera, honestly. To record Connor’s face the moment he walked through the door. Sixty’s own eyes were good, but he wanted to appreciate this moment from every single angle, and he could only capture what he saw physically. Actually. He glanced over in the direction of Markus’s office. Didn’t Markus keep an old digital camera in there for photo ops with humans? Was there time to go fetch it, rig it to the ceiling or on top of one of the file cabinets? Sixty quickly ran the numbers. 

One minute left. One small, steadily vanishing minute until— 

The doorknob rattled. A little early then. That was fine. One angle would just have to be enough. Sixty primed himself to jump, just happy he wouldn’t have to waste any more time hovering in place with anticipation. 

He’d planned and reviewed simulations of this moment multiple times, covering every variable, every possible reaction. At least, that was what he had thought. To his shock, it didn’t happen the way he thought it might. Instead of opening quietly, the door slammed open with a loud  _ bang!  _ Sixty, caught off guard, stayed rooted in place. The anger was supposed to come  _ after  _ the reveal. What followed was unmistakably Connor’s voice, pitched low and furtive. He swore as he pulled the door shut with a measure more care than he’d taken opening it, frustration bleeding into the air like something tangible.

That… wasn’t at all what Sixty had expected. Carefully, he peered around the edge of the desk and froze when he saw Connor hovering by the doorway. Connor looked… It felt mean to say terrible, but Sixty really didn’t know what else to call that look on his face other than the truth. His clothing was even less than perfect, his hair a bit mussed and the artificial skin around his eyes pulled tight like he’d spent too much time frowning today. Sixty watched in silence, the original plan crumbling into dust the longer he watched Connor take in his surroundings and deflate all the more. What the hell had happened? 

“Sixty?” Connor called out quietly, no anger in his eyes to be found. “Are you here?”

Sixty licked his lips. He rose without another word, hands pressed to the desk as he slowly emerged from his hiding place. “Um… Surprise?”

Surely now the anger or embarrassment or excitement would happen, right? Only… it didn’t. None of that happened. Connor just stood there, looking at Sixty with wide, worn out eyes, face a mess and an expression in place that was so miserable that Sixty wasn’t sure what to do about it. He carefully came out from behind the desk, moving a little faster when Connor tore his gaze from him and looked at the floor instead. Without seeming to know his own intentions, Connor moved towards the wall opposite of the front door. Sixty let him. He wasn’t sure what else to do. 

Stray flower petals were crushed under foot as Connor put his back to the wall. Sixty squeezed his hands into impotentn fists, unsure of what to say, what to do, what to even think. The silence in the room was grating, so heavy that it practically had a taste all its own, but there didn’t seem to be any way to break it without something else shattering along the way. Connor just… stood there, back to the wall, and stared at the floor. 

Suddenly, Sixty felt like the biggest asshole in the world for making whatever breakdown Connor was going through take place in an office room filled with gaudy helium balloons and cheap pink streamers.

The silence dragged on, no better, no worse. He couldn’t just… He had to do something, right? He couldn’t just stand here, watching Connor break. A stress reaction of his own was beginning to creep into the corners of his sensors. His LED flickered between blue and yellow while Connor’s stayed a prominent, unblinking red. That wasn’t right. Connor shouldn’t be this upset. It was supposed to be a joke, for fuck’s sake, and that forced Sixty to say the only thing he could  _ think  _ to say.

“Are you alright?”

Maybe it had been the wrong choice to ask him what had happened. Connor covered his face with his hands and sagged against the wall, and the sight alone dried up Sixty’s ability to speak as if his mouth had become a desert. What had he… Oh, no. He wasn’t equipped to handle something like this. His LED stopped flashing blue and stayed on yellow as the realization fully took root inside him. He glanced around helplessly only to realize, once again, that he was alone and had no one else to help him handle whatever was happening with Connor.

Despite the question hanging in the air, the silence didn’t feel as if it had been actually broken. Connor barely flinched, barely moved, and Sixty was torn between moving over to Connor or keeping his distance in case sudden movements somehow made things worse. He flinched when Connor determined to make the decision for him, and he did it by dragging his hands down his face and carrying himself to the floor. 

Unbidden, Sixty felt himself whisper, “Connor?”

There was a beat of silence. “Everything that could go wrong went wrong today,” Connor finally said, eyes rooted to the ground. It said something that he wouldn’t even look at Sixty while he spoke. That wasn’t like Connor. That wasn’t like Connor at all. 

Looking around for the help he knew wasn’t there, Sixty swallowed impotently. “You want to talk about it?” Sixty winced. “I mean. I’m not great at consoling. I can… You want me to call Nines or—?”

Connor didn’t say anything. He just seemed to collapse in on himself even more, wrapping his arms around his knees and hugging them to his chest. Sixty… wasn’t sure how to take that. It wasn’t a yes, and it definitely wasn’t a no. He struggled to sense what Connor actually wanted. This was… fairly beyond anything he had ever encountered before. What was the right answer? What was he supposed to do?

It was some kind of grand cosmic joke that this was happening now, to Connor instead of to anyone else. If Sixty had been the one upset, Connor would know instinctively what to do, how to handle things to make it all better— or, barring that, manageable. Connor was  _ good  _ like that. He knew emotions, knew how to traverse them and improve them, even when the situation looked dire. 

Sixty, on the other hand, wasn’t that good. He wasn’t even mediocre at it, despite the fact that he and Connor shared so much of the same coding, so much of the same basic makeup. Sometimes, he tried to blame that disparity on the bullet he had taken to the head—faulty replacements and shoddy workmanship or plain outright trauma did a number on plenty of things, emotional and otherwise—but deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was nothing so easy to write off, to shove the blame on anything else but himself. Because it  _ was  _ him that was the problem here. He wasn’t good at being human.

He wasn’t good at making others feel  _ better.  _

_ Nines isn’t much better at it at least, _ Sixty tried to console himself. Nines was big and scary and more built for combat and inhumanity than Connor or Sixty had ever been, but that… God, that didn’t help things right now, did it? Because Nines was still better than him at it, even if it was only by a small margin. 

Sixty slowly transitioned from his knees to his ass, flopping on the ground beside Connor as that sickly, disgusting feeling began to emanate from his core. He leaned against Connor, more for the sense of support than to comfort him meaningfully. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, staring at the far wall still bedazzled with obnoxious holiday decorations. The flower petals on the floor were beginning to wilt, and some had even been ground into the carpet upon Connor’s entry, and that was about right, Sixty figured. That was about as much as he deserved on a day like today. 

“For what?” Connor asked, coming alive just a little. “It’s not your fault today was an absolute nightmare.”

Sixty shrugged weakly. “For being so bad at all of this.”  _ For not being good enough at being a functioning person to make you feel better.  _ “I don’t know what to say to make you feel better. I’m just… sorry.”

Connor’s eyes widened. His lips parted, and Sixty just stared at the wall and hated himself a little more for not even being an improvement despite his later model number. Why the hell was he the broken one? Why was he always making things worse? Was it too much to ask that he just… do better for once? 

Connor deserved that. He deserved better than he was getting with him now. Than what he ever got with Sixty.

“Sixty.”

Sixty lifted his head and looked down at Connor. “Yeah?”

Connor patted the spot next to where he sat. “Sit here. Now.”

“But—”

“Now,” Connor reiterated, voice no louder or sterner but still absolutely unignorable. Sixty stood a little straighter and moved to the spot indicated. He sank down to his knees and rolled until his ass was on the ground, knees curled up awkwardly beside him, Connor staring at him with an intensity that was almost a little bit scary. 

“Okay,” Sixty said, trying to make sense of what was happening. “I’m sitting.”

Connor lowered his arms, unwinding his legs until he had them stretched out in front of him. He patted his thigh, and in that same stern-yet-not voice, said, “Lay your head here. Now.”

Sixty looked down at Connor’s thigh and then back up to his face. He parted his lips to say something, to ask why on earth he wanted that, but thought better of it when Connor’s eyes narrowed. Without another word, Sixty did as he was told. He leaned over until he was laying on the floor beside Connor, his head resting in the man’s lap. 

But just because he went willingly didn’t mean his mind had done the same. His internal processors whirled angrily, struggling to figure out what was happening, what he was supposed to do next. Connor was the one who needed comforting, right? So why was he making Sixty lay down like this, like he was the one upset? Was it still too late to send a message to Nines, or hell, even Hank maybe? Connor liked Hank, right? And Hank was a human, so surely he understood things like—

“Sometimes, you are so frustrating that it hurts.”

Sixty, who had already been pretty stiff to begin with, stiffened even more. He stared straight ahead and tried not to let his anxiety show on his face when he knew it showed in his LED regardless. “I mean, sorry?” he tried, still trying his damnedest to catch up. “I can’t help it sometimes. I mean, I know I’m not good at things, so all I can do is try, and it sucks if it’s not good enough but if you want me to get someone better I can—”

“Sixty.”

It wasn’t harsh this time. It wasn’t stern. Connor said Sixty’s name in a quiet, small voice, so sad and empty that it immediately made Sixty close his mouth and wish he’d just gone home instead of messing around with a stupid, meaningless prank. It wouldn’t have gotten him much. Connor would have still come home sad, but Nines might have been there. It might have been better. Would have been, if Sixty wasn’t the only one around to  _ make  _ it better.

He curled his fingers around Connor’s thigh, tangling them in the fabric of his jeans. Stray rose petals stuck to his shirt. Their scent was more obvious down here. Delicate. Pleasant. Maybe he could understand those cliche scenes in the movies now, the ones where trails of flower petals led the way to the bedroom or gilded the surface of a romantic, candlelit bath. It was a soothing scent, even if the current moment didn’t feel all that romantic.

“Sorry. Just… you can tell me, if you want to,” he said as he looked up at Connor. He wasn’t sure it was the right thing to say, but then a hand found its way into his hair, Connor’s long, slender fingers already carding through it in long, careful passes. Even if it was wrong, it felt right. Nice. Though why Connor would act like Sixty needed comforting right now was beyond him. Connor was the one who needed help, right? “I don’t know how much I can do to make you feel better, but I can listen. If that’s what you need.”

Connor’s hand stilled. Sixty promptly avoided his gaze as he looked down at him with something strange written on his face in a language Sixty couldn’t read— or, more accurately, wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. “You aren’t going to offer to call Nines for me instead?”

Sixty pouted. “I can if that’s what you would prefer,” he said with just enough bitterness to coat his tongue. “But I don’t know why we need to bother him otherwise. He’s probably off on his own anyway, reading or rescuing puppies from trees and all that shit.”

“Rescuing  _ kittens  _ from trees,” Connor corrected gently, a quiet laugh in his voice either way. “I’ll tell you if you want to know, Sixty.”

“I want to know if it makes you feel better,” Sixty decided. “So. Talk if you want to talk, Connor.”

Connor sighed and went back to petting Sixty’s hair. A few minutes passed in silence, Sixty wondering if he would, but eventually the silence stopped weighing on him. He had a feeling Connor would. He just needed to gather himself. Maybe. It felt better to think that way, so Sixty just went with it and let the silence run its course.

He was rewarded for his patience at the five minute mark. “I got caught up in an accident on my way there— I’m fine,” Connor said, catching the look that had passed over Sixty’s face unbidden. His smile was reassuring, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It had shut down an intersection and I wasn’t quick enough to turn before I got caught in the thick of the gridlock. Some teenager with a learner’s permit, I think. I don’t know. I didn’t care enough to get the details in the moment. All I knew was that I was going to be late.”

“Didn’t you just call ahead and tell them you’d be late?” Sixty wondered. “I thought people were usually pretty understanding when things like that happened.”

“That’s what turned the already shitty day into something even worse.” Connor leaned back, his head thudding dully against the wall. His fingers combed through Sixty’s hair soothingly, as much for Sixty’s benefit as it was for his own. “I did try calling in. I got the woman’s secretary, and you know what he told me when I explained the situation?”

Sixty struggled to meet Connor’s eyes. “What did he say?”

Without looking at him, Connor’s features deadened. “That an android should be punctual because that’s how we’re made. That maybe I should go in for an upgrade if I couldn’t even manage that much without a human holding my remote control.”

If Connor’s hand hadn’t been in his hair, Sixty would have shot upright. He  _ tried,  _ too. He tried to sit up, to leap to his feet, to go hunt down that fucker and show him just how bad a decision that comment had been to make, but Connor held him in place, elbow locking to keep him prone, to keep his head in his lap and his body where it was, because he knew how Sixty would react. He had to have, and—

“I already got mad about it, Sixty,” Connor told him in a hollow voice. “You getting mad too won’t make things any better.”

“You don’t know that,” Sixty hissed. “What was the guy’s name? Where’s his office? Nines and I will go take care of it and—”

“This is exactly why I didn’t have you call Nines,” Connor sighed, leaning back until his head rested against the wall behind him. “The two of you combined would talk yourselves into kidnapping or worse.”

“They would never find the body,” Sixty promised him.

“Shockingly, that wouldn’t make me feel better, your intentions aside.”

“Then what would?”

“I don’t know,” Connor sighed, carrying on with his petting. “If I were human, I’d say a drink. But, since that’s not an option, I think I’ll just settle for petting you a bit longer.”

Sixty frowned. “But I can take care of it for you.”

“That’s not what I need, Sixty. What I need is for you to lay here, head in my lap, and tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to cover the office with flower petals and cheesy balloons that definitely take up more airspace than is legal in Detroit.” Connor glanced down at him, a weak smile building on his lips despite the pain still lingering in his eyes. “I mean, really, what were you trying to do? Is this to embarrass me? Piss me off? Or did you watch too many romantic comedies and think this was a good way to woo me?”

The hand in his hair was there, present and warm. Sixty looked at Connor, then at the wall, and then back to Connor, judging his sincerity, still calculating the odds of how long it would take to send off a message to Nines, create a good plan, and execute a mob style hit on that asswipe and still make it back home to Connor before he realized that a quick trip to the store for more flowers was something a little less innocuous and a lot more murderous than first imagined.

It wouldn’t be that hard, was the thing. Sixty knew he could do it. If Nines got on board too, it would barely take two hours, less maybe if the traffic was decent. 

Sixty closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t good like Connor was, but if trying made him happy, he’d just have to do what needed to be done.

“Why can’t it be a little of all three?” he said with a huff, layering on the petulance until it made Connor laugh despite himself. “You were supposed to come through that door, see the mess I had made, and yell at me, and when I yelled back that it was a grand romantic gesture that you clearly didn’t appreciate, you were supposed to get embarrassed and contrite, and you’d offer to do all sorts of naughty things for me to apologize, and then we’d fuck on Markus’s desk or something and leave the shit here for him to deal with in the morning.”

“Oh, that’s all?”

“Yes,” Sixty said, cracking an eye as he began to smile too. “It was a flawless plan if I do say so myself.”

“Clearly.” Connor took a moment to look around the place, really taking in the details and effort that went into making the office look like a Valentine’s Day themed pipe bomb had gone off in it. “I can’t say I’m not impressed. How long did this take you to do? You even got stick-on hearts for the ceiling.”

Sixty shrugged, a proud little smile gilding his lips. He was glad Connor hadn’t asked how he had even gotten those up there. It had involved stacking a few too many books on his desk and balancing acts that would absolutely make the android smack him instead of pet him. “I don’t know. Didn’t really keep track. Maybe an hour or two.” Which was a lie. He’d waved goodnight to Markus the night before and faked going home himself. Connor had already put himself in stasis by the time he finished up the last of it and curled up in bed with him. Markus taking the day off to spend with Simon had been a bit of good luck, and it had given Sixty another five or so hours to put the finishing touches in place without anyone catching on to his scheme. “Why? Do you think it was worth it?”

“I don’t know if I’d call this much effort towards a prank worth it.”

“Well, did it yield the necessary results then?” Sixty asked instead, nuzzling pointedly at Connor’s crotch since it was conveniently resting beneath his head. 

“That depends.”

“On what?”

Connor smiled, slow and warm. “On just how married you are to the idea of doing it on Markus’s desk. I don’t think he would appreciate that, and I think I’ve been away from home for long enough today. I kind of miss our bed.”

Oh, what a night this was turning into. It was hard to complain though. Not when Connor was finally looking better, acting like he wasn’t as done with humanity as he had coming in. “Well, it’s still Valentine’s Day,” Sixty cajoled, nudging Connor with his cheek a little firmer, eliciting a bit of a huff that could be a moan if enough effort was applied towards making it one. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Man, I must have missed that,” Connor laughed, tugging on Sixty’s hair until he stopped grinding against him so actively. “You think we should celebrate then? Even if we do it away from all of your lovely decorations?”

Sixty’s eyes fell to half-mast. “I mean, the fancy hearts and balloons do create quite the romantic atmosphere, but I think I can come up with a few creative ways to make up for it if you want to head back home instead of taking me up on this bed of rose petals and what not. You know, if you’re interested.”

Connor pretended to think about it. It just made Sixty love him even more. “I guess we can, since you’re in the mood to be creative. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t encourage you? But you know, Markus is going to kill you if you don’t take down at least some of this mess. You kind of went crazy with the streamers, didn’t you?”

“Only the best for you,” Sixty answered. 

Snorting, Connor shook his head and stood, nudging Sixty’s head off his shoulder. He held out a hand and smiled while he did it. “How about I help you then,” he offered. “That way we finish quick and can celebrate properly back at home.”

Sixty grinned, a little more in love just from that. He gripped Connor’s hand, let him help him to his feet, and together they got to work making Valentine’s Day just a little less pink than his prank.

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall enjoyed it! feel free to leave a comment if so, and check me out for more fun times at @tdcloud_writes on twitter or my website tdcloudofficial.com for my non-fandom work! until next time!


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